expatriate thoughts on culture, motherhood + faith.
As we sat on a hill overlooking the Irish Sea and our children chased kites and sliotars and dogs, I couldn't help but think: Ireland is a breaker of many hearts.
This is the story of praying without words, worshiping without voice, and how music does the heavy lifting for us when our arms our too weak to heave the load
When a TCK graduates, there are no grandparents in the audience, no cheers from the crowd. You know that it's only primary school, but those seven years feel particularly hard won.